Silence
by cubye4
Summary: Just something that came into my head. A look at how Hermione was feeling after Ron left in Deathly Hallows. May be a two-shot.


**I just felt like writing something that wasn't part of anything and didn't need to be anything in particular. A drabble told from…. Hmmm…. Hermione? How does that sound to you? Sure. Alright. And, well I love the part after Ron leaves in Deathly Hallow…. So yeah, let's take that. Cool. Let's get started, shall we?**

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**Silence ****– by Cubye4**

Hermione Granger knew silence. She had grown up as the only child to two dentists who were constantly dealing with patients. She had spent many evenings alone at home when her parents were working overtime. So yes, Hermione Granger knew silence. She knew how nice it could be, liberating even, especially after a long day.

_This_ silence however, was of a completely different nature. One that was so unfamiliar and unwanted that she sometimes had to remind herself that she wasn't the only person left on earth. Though it sometimes felt like she was.

Harry had become increasingly withdrawn since Ron's departure. Or was it more like an escape? An abandonment? Either way, Harry had become quieter than he had been before, frequently leaving the tent for hours at a time to walk around the small vicinity that Hermione had surrounded with protective enchantments. It wasn't like he was much better company in the tent anyway. In fact, he was just as quiet and introverted as if he weren't there at all. The difference was that she _knew_ he was there when he was, and though he wasn't very talkative, or talkative at all, that simple knowledge was all she really needed.

Even so, if she were to be honest with herself, she didn't want to talk to him anyway. Well, no, that wasn't true. She just didn't want to talk at all.

Unless it was with Ron.

There she went again, thinking about him. His annoying, selfish, greedy little good-for-nothing self, who left them alone in this mess. Who decided that he couldn't _handle_ the stress, he couldn't _handle_ that they weren't getting anywhere!

Hermione, who was lying in her bed, pulled the covers over her head and stared up at the darkness.

She had made an agreement with herself that she was not going to cry over him anymore. She would not shed one more tear over that stupid, idiotic git. Not one tear. Yet she could already feel her eyes filling up.

How could he leave them? How could he leave _her_? She thought that finally, finally he had realized that he meant more to her than anyone ever had before. That he was the one person she couldn't stand to see with someone else. That regardless of how much she _hated his guts_, she loved him more than anything in the world.

She thought he had finally realized that. But apparently he hadn't. Not if he would leave like that, just walk out on six plus years of friendship as though it had been a simple luncheon date with a relatively familiar acquaintance.

Was he that thick? Or was it that he really didn't care about her at all?

Isn't that what he said?

"_I get it, you chose him."_

So that's what it came down to, was it? He had never grown up! He still held that stupid jealousy towards Harry that he had held since their first meeting. It didn't matter that Harry hated being famous and rich, and it didn't matter that he was perhaps the most wanted person in all of England, with a large cash price hanging over his head. No, none of that mattered, not to Ron anyway, who thought that _he_ deserved everything.

Hermione sat up, the sheets still over her head, but her eyes now dry.

It wasn't about her. It had _never_ been about her. Oh, no, no, no, no. It was all about Harry. What he had, and what Ron didn't.

That's why he left. It had nothing to do with her at all.

Rather than making her feel better, this just made her feel worse. But she wasn't sad anymore. No. She was positively furious.

How _dare_ he string her along like that? Was he so heartless that he didn't care who he hurt, as long as whatever he did seemed best for him in the moment?

How had she fallen for that? Why had she believed that he could ever love her the way she loved him? That his feelings could ever be the same as hers?

He didn't love anyone but himself. He had proved that time and time again. But he seemed to have changed. The way he looked at her, the way he acted around her made it seem as though he did care for her.

And every time she had let herself believe it.

She should have known better by now that she could never trust anything he said. Everything he did was because he was jealous of Harry. Jealous of what he had. Including her.

"_I get it, you chose him."_

That's why he left. Because Harry had taken another thing that he'd never had, another thing that he desperately wanted.

Underneath her makeshift tent she put her hand over her mouth. _Something he wanted_.

But no, he couldn't have thought…. Her and Harry? That was insane, impossible, even Ron had to know that.

But what if he didn't? What if she had been more right than she thought about that locket they had been sharing turns wearing around their necks? Anything that contained a piece of Voldemort must be the foulest thing in the world, and the most influential. Combined with feelings already harbored, it could mix up what you see, skew the picture.

If that was the case, maybe Ron really _did_ think that Harry had stolen what he wanted. They spent a ton of time together, sometimes even alone.

But Ron had gotten it wrong, all wrong. Harry and she had only been spending all that time together by themselves because Ron had been too immature and whiny to join in their conversations. There was nothing, absolutely nothing going on between them. The thought was crazy. Harry was her brother, her best friend, but Ron was the man that she loved.

And he had left thinking he wasn't.

The tears were back. She hated them. They came to her every night, but this night they stung the worst as they rolled down her face. Because this time she knew what Ron was thinking when he ran away from them, and it tore at her heart to know that he thought that. Perhaps he still did.

And there was no way for her to contact him. No way for her to let him know that she wanted him. She had always wanted him.

She put her head against the pillow to muffle her crying. Tonight she was not going to make a sound. She knew that Harry must hear her at night. He didn't say anything, but she could tell by the way he averted his gaze in the morning when she woke up and her eyes were still red.

Though she was grateful that he never brought it up, she knew that it must be painful for him to have to hear her cry. So tonight, though she hurt more than ever, she cried quietly, hoping that somewhere Ron could hear her silence and understand.

She was woken up by a wet and beaming Harry the next morning.

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**I'm sure you can guess what happened that morning. I may consider making this a two part, but I'm not so sure yet. Anyway, review if you can, it would be really nice of you!**


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